


A Bare Mattress

by orionstarlight



Series: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Haikyuu Angst Week 2020, Longing, M/M, True Love, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionstarlight/pseuds/orionstarlight
Summary: “Tarō, my apartment is not a gym.”He bounds over, much more excited about the situation than he should be. “Actually, since I’m living here now too, that makes it our apartment, Keij. I say this place is a gym.”He picks up the ball, spins it, coffee going everywhere again. Akaashi stares, unimpressed. Bokuto moving in has given him too much power.-----Or, the four times Bokuto said I love you and the one time he didn't. Written for Haikyuu Angst Week.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995697
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	A Bare Mattress

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompts 'Longing' and 'When did it all change?'

* * *

If it wasn’t for it being light outside, Bokuto wouldn’t even consider this morning. At least the mountain of food he brought with him had been keeping him awake for now, but even eating gets boring after a while.

He sits up, looking down at the boy he’s sharing the blanket with, his face just visible in the slowly rising sun.

“Keiji. Keeeiiijiii. Keij. Keij. _Keij_.”

The setter looks up from his book. “You wanted to watch them, didn’t you? The price is being here at five.”

He groans, falling back, head ending up on Akaashi’s stomach like a weight worth a ton. The cherry blossoms will bloom shortly, but it still feels like he’s dying of boredom waiting for them to do so. Pretty as they are, some things, like sleep, aren’t worth the sacrifice.

“I’d rather be in bed. Can we at least play some volleyball?” he whines.

“No, we can’t, because you’d end up hitting someone. There’s not enough space here for your excitement. Sorry.” Akaashi’s hand ruffles Bokuto’s hair softly and stays there, fingers running through it.

Bokuto changes position suddenly, hovering over Akaashi, staring at him deeply, whereas the setter just goes back to reading his book, unphased. He’s used to the sudden bursts of energy by now.

“Keeeeiijiiii. Keiji. Keeeiij. Keeeeeiiiiiij.”

He pretends not to notice the ace’s fingers as they pry the book from his grasp, forehead leaning closer, nose inches apart from his own. By that last point, however, it’s hard not to notice.

“You want to go, don’t you?” asks Akaashi, knowing the answer.

“So bad. I’ll buy you boiled rapeseed plants.” Bokuto presses his lips to Akaashi’s, hoping to pull the decision in his favour. “Please?”

Akasshi rolls his eyes but gets up anyway, packing up their leftovers and picnic blanket, leaving a perfect spot to view the cherry blossoms when they bloom to whoever comes along next.

Bokuto slips his hand into Akaashi’s as they walk through the park, heading into the main part of town again. “Love you, Keij.”

“Love you too, Tarō.”

* * *

“Kōtarō. Put me down.”

He shakes his head. “No way. It’s tradition to carry the bride over the threshold.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense. _You’re_ the one moving in.” Bokuto sighs, exasperated at the rationality he has to deal with so early in the morning, but only dropping Akaashi once he actually does pass the threshold.

Akaashi rights himself and closes the door, Bokuto already wandering around to see if something is out of place since the last time he was here — considering that was barely a week ago, the answer is no. Not much has changed except for the amount of clutter since he started living here a year ago.

While Bokuto unpacks the rest of his belongings he brought over before himself, Akaashi finishes making the coffee he was halfway through before he was interrupted, too tired to eat breakfast yet.

As soon as he turns around, he regrets it, the volleyball that’s flying through the air landing in the coffee he’s holding.

“Tarō, my apartment is not a gym.”

He bounds over, much more excited about the situation than he should be. “Actually, since I’m living here now too, that makes it our apartment, Keij. I say this place _is_ a gym.”

He picks up the ball, spins it, coffee going everywhere again. Akaashi stares, unimpressed. Bokuto moving in has given him too much power.

“I will not hesitate to make you move in with Kuroo,” he says, but even he can’t stop the small smile that forms as the coffee melts into the floorboards.

“I think you love me too much for that. You wouldn’t subject me to that torture, would you?” He’s pouting, trying to get his way.

Akaashi places the half-empty cup on the counter, not one to drink tainted coffee. God knows where that volleyball’s been. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Strong arms wrap around his middle, squeezing the life out of him as they lift him up.

“See, I knew it! You do love me!”

Akaashi chuckles despite the lack of air. “Guess I do.”

* * *

He’s completely drained, the light from the laptop absolutely killing his eyes, but he’d sooner finish this stupid review tonight than have to go back to it tomorrow. Oh, the joys of being a scholar.

The noise blaring from the TV in the living room isn’t helping at all, and he knows Bokuto has to study other players as well as his own team, but the shouts of the crowd and team members have created a dull ache in the back of his head, making it that much harder to focus.

He grumbles, duvet wrapped around his body, and exits the bedroom. “Tarō, can you turn it down? Please?”

“Yeah, yeah. How’s the review going?” asks Bokuto to his back.

“Not well. Not well at all,” he murmurs, muttering the last part under his breath. He doesn’t want Bokuto worrying about him.

It doesn’t work.

He’s scooped up bridal style and carried to the bedroom, laptop closed shut, the game still going on somewhere in the background, but he can’t hear it at all now that Akaashi’s in Bokuto’s arms.

“I can’t, I need to finish the review. Go watch the match.”

“You’re tired, Keij. You should sleep,” retorts Bokuto, lying on top of Akaashi, chest pressed against his back, breathing against his ear as his chin rests on his shoulder.

He is tired, and he should sleep, but he doesn’t like coming back to things. He likes when they’re done, out of the way, so he never has to think about them again, but with the position they’re lying in now, he knows he’s not going to be able to reach for his laptop at all.

It’s warm like this, a safety net to catch him when he falls. He sighs, smiling at the ace. “Thank you, Tarō.”

“Gotta take care of the people you love, or they get grumpy and threaten to make you move out and live with Kuroo.”

“You’re still on that?”

“It was a pretty big threat,” he mumbles, and Akaashi laughs quietly.

He takes one of Bokuto’s hands in his, although it takes some manoeuvring. “Don’t worry. Kuroo doesn’t get to have you.”

It’s not the most comfortable position they could have picked, but it feels natural, having each other so close. Right here, right now, it’s just the two of them, a silent ‘I love you’ lingering in the air.

* * *

A Christmas party in the Literature Department was, probably, one of Bokuto’s nightmares. Listening to Akaashi ramble was fine because it was _Akaashi_ and he _wanted_ to listen to anything he had to say, but when it’s a bunch of nerds in suits dropping long names, it’s hard to pay attention.

He’s going out of his mind with boredom, shifting from one room to the next, putting food in his mouth to avoid making conversation. Sports and literature really, really do not go together that well.

“Hey, you okay? You look like you’re going to start bouncing off the walls any second now,” says one of the suits, a glass of red wine in his hand, an incredibly cliché image if he’s ever seen one.

He shrugs, straightening up, trying to act more mature. “I prefer loud crowds. I’m here for Keiji.”

“Oh, Akaashi! Man, the guy is incredibly talented. He’s gonna do really good in life, I’m kind of jealous,” says the suit, sighing and leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“You know him?”

“Yeah, we’ve got most of our classes together. I’m Ito, by the way, but feel free to call me Naoki. I’ve always thought surnames were way too formal.”

Bokuto takes the outstretched hand gingerly, shaking it once but firmly. He stops when he feels calluses similar to his, eyeing the suit who says his name is Naoki, who’s eyeing him back eagerly. 

“What sport do you play?” asks Bokuto.

Naoki chuckles. “None, at the moment, I don’t have time. I played volleyball in high school though, nothing serious, just to take the edge off.”

The ace’s eyes light up at the mention of the game, and suddenly all the energy he’s lost throughout the evening is plugged into him again, like a lightning bolt up his spine, and suddenly his mouth is running a mile a minute.

Naoki entertains him gladly, pleased he doesn’t have to talk about some author he’s just barely heard of, and watches Bokuto keenly, more than happy to answer any and all questions he has.

“Hey, Tarō, Ito. Thought you’d be expended by now,” says Akaashi, walking up to the volleyball players, confused at just how well they’re getting along.

“You didn’t tell me you had people that played volleyball in your class, Keij! This guy just made my whole evening, even if I took up most of his.”

Naoki just laughs the statement off, waving his hand down. “Really, you were incredibly fun to talk to. At least I didn’t have to talk about old books I haven’t even read. But I shouldn’t keep you guys from each other. Enjoy your evening.”

Akaashi smiles at the light in Bokuto’s eyes as they’re putting on their coats, ready to go home now. “So, you had fun then?”

“It wasn’t the same as listening to you talk, but it was okay. Kind of missed you though, entertaining as Naoki was. Did you know he was a spiker for his team? Man, I really want him to show me some of his moves,” he says, kicking at the ground.

“You’ll have to ask him. I’m sure he’ll say yes. And thanks for coming with me tonight.” Bokuto takes Akaashi’s hand in the cold winter night.

“Are you kidding? I’d do anything for you, even listen to some guys in suits ramble on about books and authors with long white beards. You’re my favourite person, Keij.”

“You’re my favourite person too, Tarō,” he says, letting him settle into his side a little as they start the long walk home, the first snow of the season falling behind them.

* * *

The last box stands, taped up neatly, waiting by the front door to be picked up and taken to its new home. Everything else in the apartment seems normal, only the amount of clutter smaller than it used to be.

He’ll be coming by tomorrow to take it, having forgotten about it today, and that leaves Akaashi sitting on the wall opposite the door, staring at the box, wanting to rip it and all the memories it holds to shreds.

It’s cold now, empty, even though spring is ending, and a new semester is starting, and there’s no one to hide under a duvet with him, avoiding assignments and practises.

He stands up, silent, and walks past the box, placing his coffee cup on the dining table, walking to the bedroom, standing in the doorway, leaning against it, looking at the bare mattress that’s been stripped of its sheets and pillows, nothing more than a blank slate.

Kōtarō’s gone, volleyball uniform and DVDs of old matches gone with him, having found someone else to entertain him on the nights he stays up late, making up strategies. The worst part was, he never saw it coming. Never saw how much Naoki meant to him until it was too late to pull him back.

He didn’t mean to become unresponsive when the nights got longer, when the papers got harder, when the matches became unattendable. When did it all change? When did he forget to keep trying?

He longs to feel that body on top of his again, heavy as it was. Chest pressed against his back, breathing low, hair tickling his cheeks. Not a position he was comfortable in, but one he loved nonetheless.

His fingers trace the dent in the mattress as he lies down on it, trying to bring back his memory, hoping it’ll say I love you back when he whispers it into the dark room.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> [my ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/erissapphic)


End file.
